


Resilience

by walierion



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, The Inquisitor is Tired of Being Strong, You choose! Trevelyan or Lavellan, i'm sad now, slightly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walierion/pseuds/walierion
Summary: «Sometimes at night, when the mark sends bolts of searing agony up her arm and her hand flickers to life in the darkness of her bed chamber, she feels his strong arms wrap around her, drawing her to him.»A story of how the Inquisitor and Cullen get through the nights when the Anchor is at its worst.





	Resilience

Sometimes at night, when the mark sends bolts of searing agony up her arm and her hand flickers to life in the darkness of her bed chamber, she feels his strong arms wrap around her, drawing her to him. When toxic green reflects in the glass panes of her windows and on the ornamental gold of her chandelier, she feels the warmth of his body against her own. A warm, comforting touch on her cold skin, a heartbeat against her own, deep soothing breaths reminding her to breath herself. The sensation is almost enough to rival the mark on her hand.

On good nights his closeness is comfort enough to distract her from the pains and let her fall asleep, her even breathing filling the silence of the room, lines of discomfort erased from her face as her mind sinks into the Fade, but on most nights she can’t even feel the embrace he envelopes her in. The pulsing energy of the anchor keeps her awake through the quiet hours, burning through every nerve from her fingers to her elbow, impossible to ignore.

Those nights her only wish is to scream into the void, to Andraste, to the Maker himself, to anyone who can hear her; and beg them to let the pain take her, let the fade swallow her. She wants to thrash around in her bed until her bones ache and her muscles scream, give in to the agony that the mark has her in - the mark she isn’t supposed to have, isn’t equipped to handle.

Instead she lies still, her body merely a vessel for the pain, unable to do anything but silently beg the Maker to give her strength, to give her anything he is willing to part with to ease her suffering. If the Maker should be willing to part with death she would gladly take it.

 

On those nights her silence scares him, but he knows that she is fighting a quiet battle with herself. He sees it in the tightly knitted fist she keeps her marked hand in, her arm outstretched on the mattress, as far away from herself as possible. He sees it in the almost unnoticeable twitches in her fingers and the furrowing of her brows when the mark spits light across her face. He doesn’t know if she is winning. More and more nights they have spent like this and he hates to see her in pain.

 

On those nights he watches her silhouette against the moonlight, her face turned away, and he runs his hand down her back, gently brushing her damp hair away from the bare skin on her neck, trailing up and down her spine with his fingers. On those nights he reaches out, fumbling in the darkness and wraps her up with himself. He turns her around to face him and she presses against his chest, her arms around his neck, a hand on his freckled shoulder. He holds her tightly and she feels the heat radiating from him, his hands in her hair or on her back, sometimes massaging the nape of her neck, sometimes holding her marked hand in his. If she can bear it. He feels the anchor pulse against his grip, burning hot, spitting energy scorching his skin. He cannot imagine what it feels like for her.

 

Sometimes she cries when he holds her like this. The weight of it all pushes her down into herself, the responsibility and the sheer size of her task too great to carry alone in the deep of the night, moon passing slowly across the dark sky outside. He knows she doesn’t want him to see her like this. Her stubbornness makes her position as Inquisitor bearable, but it also keeps her from showing weakness - and from asking for help. He can do nothing but wipe away the tears that she so much despises, and hold her as close to himself as she will allow. Her face is hidden against his chest, her body flush against his own, but still slightly curled in on itself. He feels the heat of the mark pulsating against his back where her hand rests.

 

Other times they make love when he holds her like this. When their eyes meet in the dark his hands caress her shoulder blades, her spine, gently tracing over her lower back. Her arms snake around his neck, her hands finding their place in his hair and she moves to press her lips against his. It’s gentle and slow, kisses littered on his throat, on her breasts, hands and fingers exploring, eager to touch, to feel. He wants to bring her comfort, to take away her pain. She wants to reassure him that, even through the pain, she is still the same person he kissed on the battlements so long ago, and that she will be okay eventually. She wishes there is a certainty to this promise, that there is hope for her. But she knows well enough that there isn’t. Eventually the mark will claim her and all that she is, and even if she manages to close the Breach, the mark will continue to spread. Until it doesn’t anymore. And then it’ll be too late.

She tries not to think about this as he pulls her on top of him. His eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, hold her gaze as they join. When he begins to move, she leans down towards him, caressing his cheek and pressing gentle kisses to his lips and face. She doesn’t want him to worry, but she can see it in his eyes that he does.

 

Sometimes at night, when the mark awakens with the energy of the Fade and all the world is bathed in green, she does not cry. She knows that her time will come and when it does they will both be ready for it.

 


End file.
